


Cognizance and Debauchery

by Azaraethe



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brother/Brother Incest, Character Study, Consensual Possession, Erotica, M/M, Magic, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23803108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaraethe/pseuds/Azaraethe
Summary: “Promise me that you are mine. And will forever be mine.”Aglovale attempts to repair the broken eastern dam and delirium threatens to overcome him. Percival rushes in, attempting to keep Aglovale from falling into delirium. However, the King prevents him from doing so. Magic has to pay its price. Percival returns to the castle and stays with Aglovale until the storms cede.This piece is a short excerpt and may connect briefly with other excerpts in the series. There is a fair bit of heavy worldbuilding and characterization in this excerpt.
Relationships: Aglovale/Percival (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Cognizance and Debauchery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofnoex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofnoex/gifts).



> Dear Reader
> 
> If you have traveled here out of curiosity, and you're not comfortable with brotherly incest, do click the X button and close the fic.

_“Doubt thou the stars are fire;  
Doubt that the sun doth move;  
Doubt truth to be a liar;  
But never doubt I love.”  
_

_Polonius, Act 2 Scene 2; Hamlet_

Aglovale saw himself fall twice.

It started with a swell of dread in his gut. And it rose, taunting his stomach, pulling at the muscles of his chest and he sought to breathe. The storm had invaded every fiber, every muscle of his body. Screeching winds battered against his will to bring him to his knees.

Breathe! 

He demanded his lungs to take in air as he battled the storms, slamming his sword into the wet earth. 

The ground moaned and distended in tremendous reluctance as he twisted his blade further into the ground. Rain pelted his face and wind gusted against his eyes and his hair.

Breathe...

A multitude of screams tore around him, clawing at his ears and his hands. His fingers purpled, frostbite edging lethally into skin and flesh. He tightened his grip around his sword’s hilt. One single moment, one single spell. All he needed right now was to buy enough time for the incantation. 

He must succeed. He was this country’s King.

Towering welts of ice sprang upwards in thundering roars and raced towards the broken stones of the dam. Frost battered against rain and wind, freezing relentless sheets into cascading ice. He unleashed his hands from the hilt of his sword, leaving the blade upright, stabbed into the earth. Aglovale drew his hands forth, raising them, sweeping invisible arcs as his magic froze water and wind.

Such was the power of the King!

His men fell to their knees, hands gripping their swords and their mouths agape as they watched their lord tame the storms. Every single drop of rain, each gust of wind conquered and captured, sacrificed to the shards of ice encasing the entire dam. 

And all became silent.

A dull white glint shone on the massive expanse of the barrier. The rain ceased into a pitiful trickle and the flood abated, sloshing its impotent defiance behind the ice wall. 

His knees wavered, and he looked down. His boots and legs were smeared with thawing clumps of black soil and his hair hung down in wet tangles. Aglovale lifted a trembling hand to the side of his cheek, pressing muddied fingers to his mouth and his eye.

The wan tinge of blood-ladened warmth stained his fingers. He had defeated the storm and stopped the flood. Yet, what a sight he must be now! His thoughts paused and a memory flickered, slipping into his aching head. Aglovale staggered back, keeping himself upright now that human voices broke the stillness, urgently clamoring towards him.

_“Aglovale.”_

_“Mother?” He stretched out a hand to her, his fingers clawing at the space between him and the flame-haired woman._

_Her smile was frail and wan, and she held out her pale white hands to him._

_There was a flicker, a flare. Flames rose, circling her thin body._

_“Aglovale.”_

_“Mother, what do you want to tell me?” He cried, finding his voice wretchedly weak. Where was his magic? He yelled and he screamed. The fire blazed around her, raining red ash upon her outstretched palms._

_“Save Percival, Aglovale.” Herzeloyde rested her face into her palms. She wept, her form crumbling and consumed by frenzied fiery ribbons._

His mind snapped back to the present.

Aglovale saw himself fall.

His body lifted, swept up aimlessly like storm-battered leaves. A cold wind roared through his ears, splintering into his bones. 

Magic’s backlash. 

He fell into a slurry of mud and broken branches, the metallic chill of his armor imprisoning his limbs. Aglovale’s eyes shuddered to a close. There will be no peace in this incoming slumber - a magician always paid their dues. But this time, he will sleep.

“My liege!”

“Your Majesty!”

“No...”

“No!”

“ _Aniue_!” 

Aglovale saw a streak of red, and a fluster of silver. Hands, sun-touched and warm, encircled his neck. His body shuddered, leaning instinctively towards the heat.

Percival had torn his gloves off. They fell forgotten upon the ice-encrusted mud as he lifted his brother. His hands clutched Aglovale’s neck, the heat he had summoned forth attempting to warm his brother’s cold, chilled flesh as he searched desperately for a pulse, a heartbeat.

“ _Aniue_ …” He pleaded, pressing a heated hand to the blond man’s closed eyes, flaking icy water away from pale gold eyelashes, wiping dried blood from Aglovale’s cheeks and mouth. 

A groan tumbled out from Aglovale’s torn lips. He fought to speak, his voice hoarse and cracked.

“Percival, take away your hands. Do not touch me with your magic!”

Aglovale’s order, imperiously driven, desperately wrought, tumbled out from his bluish lips. The prince did not listen, and as wretchedly stubborn as he always was, dragged the King’s limp body into his embrace. 

“Percival, stop!”

With barely-mustered force, Aglovale grabbed Percival’s wrists, wrenching the prince’s hands away. 

“You must not. Remember what I’ve taught you!”

Aglovale hissed. His nails dug furiously into Percival’s flesh, scraping savagely at the skin until it broke. A thin trickle of blood webbed down the flame-haired man’s arm. 

Percival grappled with the King’s hands, clamping his fingers around Aglovale’s wrists. The King glared up into his youngest brother’s face, irises dilated to an awful blood-red, teeth clenched and bared for a moment before his eyelids shuddered to a close.

Delirium.

Percival’s face paled. He recognized the tiny signs at once - the reddening eyes, the tightening of facial muscles, the stark tracery of ice-blue veins around Aglovale’s neck. He must bring the King back to the castle immediately. Aglovale must not be allowed to sleep. 

Lifting the unconscious body of his brother into his arms, Percival turned to yell for the guards.

His brother’s Frostguards were waiting a distance away. Tall, stoic, and dressed in black armor, the men reputedly only answered to his brother’s commands. He glared at their unmoving forms and that none of them moved when he shouted.

Apart from the company’s Captain. A sturdy dark-haired man of forty, with a bulwark of muscle and he had strode up. The man had brought Aglovale’s steed, but the creature was restless. The beast’s hooves stamped violently into the mud, and its eyes rolled agitatedly. The prince shook his head, striding forward as he clasped his brother close. His hand pressed against Aglovale’s head, turning his brother’s face inward away from scrutiny and sight.

“This horse has gone mad. Fetch my mount. I’ll bring the King back to the castle on mine.”

“As you command, your Highness.” The Captain saluted, bidding another guard to come forth and lead the King’s mount away, “We will repair the dam while his Majesty’s magic holds the upper hand. The masons will be here soon. Fear not, my prince.”

His horse was brought forth and he lifted Aglovale upon it. With a grunt, he pulled himself up, seating himself close to his brother, supporting the King’s limp body.

“I’ll leave this place in your care, Sir.” The prince lifted his sights away to look upon the ice-locked dam before urging his horse towards the castle grounds.

Percival’s eyes narrowed as his steed hurtled forward, the hooves clattering wildly down the granite setts of the King’s Road. The prince shook his head again, and again, the second time violently as dampness blurred his sight. His face drawn and bloodless, Aglovale’s head lolled against his brother’s chest as the horse lurched forth in thundering leaps. 

Wind and rain slashed against his face as Percival drove his steed harder and faster. His mind raced along, trying to think of a solution. Time and time again, Aglovale had preached and lectured.

A magician will control his bargains with his magic.

A magician will decide the cost.

One must not succumb to magic’s servitude.

Percival’s troubled mind fumbled through everything he had learned and all he could retrieve were his lessons on swinging a sword, and a dim, pensive memory.

 _Magic and magic’s price._

_“Aniue?”_

_“Yes, Percival?” Aglovale crouched in front of the flame-haired boy seated cross-legged on the carpet. He smiled widely and reached out a hand, pushing a curly red lock fallen in disarray across Percival’s forehead._

_The young prince closed the book on his lap, staring up at his oldest brother, his eyes wide and fearful. It was clear he did not enjoy the lesson, and he kept staring at the door, perhaps hoping his second brother would barge in and save him. Maybe bring him to find some lizards or pluck fruits. Or play with the kitchen dogs. His small hands curled upon the magical tome, fingers tracing the ornate glyphs on the cover, and he drew a tiny breath._

_“Aniue, what would happen if I used too much magic?”_

_Aglovale’s smile faded an instant and his expression grew thoughtful as he answered slowly, “You will become very tired, Percival.”_

_“Just like Papa?”_

_“Mmm…” The smile returned to Aglovale’s face and he pressed his hands to the little boy’s cheeks, plumping them a little, “Yes, just like Father. And you’ll sleep for a long, long time.”_

_The boy blew raspberries and lowered his chin into the cupped palms of his oldest brother._

_“I don’t like that.” He declared with all the alacrity a ten-year-old could summon._

_Aglovale lifted his little brother’s head, watching the child’s expression grow sullen and upset. Heaviness grew upon the blond youth’s shoulders. Yet, with cheerfulness forced, Aglovale leaned his forehead against Percival’s smaller brow._

_“If you ever fall asleep, Percival, I’ll be there to wake you up,” Aglovale vowed solemnly._

_“Promise?” The child’s red eyes focused on him, unblinking, hopeful._

_“I promise.”_

Percival growled, shaking the last dredge of that memory from his mind. He clamped his arms protectively around his brother, shaking the reins in his hands to force his mount into an insane, maniacal gallop towards the rising turrets of the castle. He had carried Aglovale to the King’s rooms - a suite built on the topmost floor of the castle, a place where Percival sought excuses to enter but more than often, refused access. He paused a moment, his eyes sweeping around the state of his brother’s rooms.

Windows that spanned from the ceiling to the floor looked out to all greatness that was this country. The royal rooms were minimally maintained in shades of blue and white, and every piece of furniture, efficient and functional. There was no excess or surplus indulgence in the chamber. The bed was simple elegance, flanked by cabinets of sleek, clean lines. Tall rosewood bookshelves line one end of the bed-chamber, their deep-red shelves heavy with books - each volume arranged in ascending height. Like the books, each object found its place in these rooms, down to the tiny wooden animal figurines arranged in a precise line upon Aglovale’s bedside table.

The King’s manservants followed after the prince, hesitant, worried, anxious for the lord’s current state. Percival had waved them away, after instructing a bath to be drawn and pots of water to be brought into the bathing chamber. Should they heat the water, the servants had asked and the prince shook his head wearily.

“Cold, leave the water cold.” He instructed and bade them to hurry.

Percival laid his brother’s body on a long chaise and rested Aglovale’s head against the cotton-clad frame. The chaise was worn and old, its lion-paw feet scratched and nicked. It was the only piece of furniture his brother had not replaced or removed from his chamber. His mother had adored this chaise, and often a story was told, or a tale delivered with her curled up against the dark blue cushions, reading aloud to three adoring, rapt faces.

He worked quickly, untying the pieces of mud-stained armor from the King’s body. Many of the individual pieces were dented, their silvery-blue surface scratched dull. As he put the last piece away on the ground, he realized his own gauntlets were missing.

There was a timid knock on the door and a servant had returned, softly announcing that they had prepared the bath chamber for his Majesty. Keep the doors closed, Percival had ordered, and with severity in his voice, he instructed them to stay away from the King’s rooms until he would call for them again.

No one had stopped or asked if the prince knew what he was doing or even questioned him. The ministers, the retainers and the servants - they had left him alone, each belying the same fear that he found suspicious. Percival ran his hand through his damp hair, twisting the strands and tugged frustratedly at the locks tangled in his fingers. 

All the earlier bravado where he took charge had seeped away, leaving him silly and small as he stood by the side of the chaise. Aglovale breathed, but he did not stir and his hands rested by his sides, unmoving. His chest rose with shallow slips of breath. Percival swallowed, his throat working. He undid his own armor, slipping his greaves and rain-soaked gambeson off.

Apprehensively, Percival unbuttoned the hooks of Aglovale’s inner garments. The wet layers of linen and velvet were pushed aside and his palms met with chill naked skin. He held his breath and released it, seeing that there were no apparent injuries on his brother’s body. The pieces of clothing were consecutively removed and he bore his brother up again in his arms to bring him to the bath chamber.

The bath chamber was secluded, the doors to it at the end of a cul-de-sac attached to a small corridor from the King’s bedroom. Squarish and fit with blue tiles, the chamber was tidy and neat - a large ceramic tub in the middle with green-tinged clawfeet; low marble-topped cabinets, and a washstand. The tub faced a set of three windows that opened out to forested mountains. Outside those windows, the skies still hung dull dark and gray, swollen over the peaks. 

The servants had placed large tin basins of cold water next to the tub and porcelain bottles of what he thought, were the usual toiletries his brother used. 

And as careful as he could, he laid his brother down into the tub. The water sloshed over Percival’s forearms, splashing his chest and stomach. The tub was filled, quite carelessly to the brim. The servants were apparently not paying attention. Their absentmindedness only served to add to Percival’s doubts. He shifted Aglovale’s body, resting the King’s shoulders against the flat head of the tub. Cold rivulets rolled over the tub’s edge, wetting the floor and the prince’s bare feet. He found a wooden stool next to the washstand, placed it behind the head of the tub, and sat on it.

He was unsure what his brother used from these bottles, and he proceeded in the best way he could, working sandalwood soap into Aglovale’s hair, pulling away bits of soil and untangling the wind-lashed knots. He cleaned the dirt away from the King’s face, pressing his fingers lightly around to avoid a small, purpling bruise below the man’s jaw. Percival continued to wash, trying to concentrate on cleaning Aglovale’s body. Heaviness grew in his motions and an even greater burden weighed upon his heart. In the falling darkness of the bath chamber, Percival lowered his face, his chin resting upon his brother’s head. His hands clutched the long soaked lengths of Aglovale’s hair, wet gold twisting tightly around his fingers.

_How can I wake you up, aniue? Where are you?_

The plea rang loud in his mind, but no words came to his lips - Percival found no strength to cry or speak. He continued to wash, scooping water into his hands, scraping the white suds from Aglovale’s shoulders, chest, and hands. 

Percival found a robe in one of the two cupboards in Aglovale’s bedroom. The silk garment was dark blue and plain, the neatly pressed sleeves and lack of creases bespoke of the owner’s attentiveness to his clothing. The prince found another robe for himself, of the same dark blue, and threw it on, not caring to tie the loose edges around his waist. 

He dressed his brother in the robe and laid him down on the bed. Aglovale’s body had remained cold throughout, yet he breathed, each breath slow and longer than the first. But as long as the King breathed, the ice held its place, and even so far away, his magic prevailed as the guards, and the masons fought to repair the broken dam. 

He sat on the bed, next to Aglovale, watching his brother breathe, and counting the seconds to the next breath. With his fingers gripped into each other, Percival fought against the rising urge to disobey. Then, he turned his head away, scanning the skies and glowering at the ceaseless sheets of gray rain. Slowly, yet surely, worry and weariness took over, pushing the prince to a fitful sleep.

~ x ~

There was someone next to him - a warm body, too warm, and hard planes of muscle pressing against his back. The same warm breath spilled on his nape, and lips murmured sleep-filled words against his hair. A pair of hands clutched his own, their fingers laced through his. Arms bracketed him in, childishly demanding. Aglovale sucked in a breath and turned around, his eyes narrowing at a particular pain down his spine before his gaze softened. 

Percival’s head lolled against him, and his chin lowered to rest on Aglovale’s shoulder. There was a frown still caught upon his brow, and tiredness twitched uncomfortably below his eyelids.

Gently, very slowly, he pried Percival’s arms away from him and pushed himself to sit upright, resting his back against the bed’s headboard. It was still raining, but the rain had relented, the droplets tinkling upon the balcony connected to the royal bedroom. Shadows poured into the chamber lazily as the clouds lowered, melding into the mists surrounding the mountains. Aglovale turned to stare out of the windows, ruminating at the patches of clouded darkness. The rains have ceased as he thought, and his men should have completed sufficient repairs on the broken dam. 

Arms came around him once more, tugging at his waist and the prince had pulled himself close, resting his forehead against his brother’s hip. Percival sighed, drawing himself even closer to his brother’s body. 

Aglovale’s fingers lifted, arching over the young man’s cheek, tracing the fine arches of cheekbones and brow. That obstinate furrow eased from Percival’s forehead, leaving his expression strangely, yet pleasantly peaceful.

It was warm again, the heat emanating from the sleeping prince comforting on his cold skin. 

Aglovale did not expect Lamarok’s divination to begin at this stage - he had believed instead, there was more time. He should have more time.

After all, was he not favored and blessed? 

Favored and blessed indeed. Aglovale’s lips curled cynically. Apparently, he was not! How arrogant thus was that assumption of his now, Aglovale admitted bitterly to himself. He closed his eyes, pensive, and debating choices in his mind. There was something else he must do tonight then. He remembered the scorch marks on the door of one particular guestroom and a rather poor decision he had made on that one single night with one particularly seductive envoy.

“Percival.” He called, soft and wanting.

Aglovale stroked the prince’s cheek and laid down next to him, his voice low and melancholic. His fingers moved, touching the closed eyelids and watched as fine red lashes lifted to shadow dark, sleepy eyes. 

“ _Aniue_ , you’re back.” Percival rasped, sliding close and his arms tightened around Aglovale’s waist. 

“Yes, I am.” Aglovale whispered, moving close and rested his forehead against Percival’s brow, “Did you bring me back, Percival?”

“No, I didn’t know how to.” There was a trace of guilt in the prince’s voice, and a beleaguered honesty scorched redness across his face. 

There was a strange gentleness in the way Aglovale embraced his body and a peculiar pleasure in the way their legs twined with each other upon the thick woolen sheets. Percival strained upwards, lifting his face and his lips fell plush against Aglovale’s jaw.

“Do you love me, Percival?” Aglovale had asked, his lips tracing the words of that question on Percival’s brow. He startled at his brother’s question momentarily.

Then, Percival whispered, his own mouth plying an unsaid confession against Aglovale’s neck.

Aglovale’s hands reached around, his fingers inching into the prince’s already disheveled robe, and he drew his fingertips lightly down the small of Percival’s back. He drew circles and lines, stroking upwards and down, and further below - his fingers impressing and touching the folds of skin between.

The caresses upon his back elicited a vague, unsavory memory of another person - a pair of glinting violet eyes and a seductive smile that challenged him to reclaim what was his. Percival remembered vaguely burning a hole in that very door of that very bedroom where he saw the darkly handsome Erste ambassador entwined with his brother’s slender body. The memory curled his hands into fists against Aglovale’s chest, and he became unaware of his conflicting feelings. 

So unaware that a faint lick of flame erupted, and it raced up his knuckles. 

Aglovale’s lips pursed barely at the prince’s reactions, and he lowered his face upon Percival’s tightly-clenched fists. The flame was kissed away, iced with a single breath.

Then, he lifted his head, and his eyes held a red-tinged amusement as he met Percival’s gaze.

“It was indeed you who burnt his door.” 

“Yes,” Percival affirmed, but he held no remorse at the admittance, returning Aglovale’s look with growing irritation. “I burnt his door.” 

His brother laughed softly, his laugh meaningful and indecipherable at the same time to Percival. Then, Aglovale’s expression grew solemn, and it spoke of an absolute promise and vulnerability.

“Percival, would you wish to love me?” 

Aglovale splayed his hands over Percival’s ass, pushing the prince’s body close against his chest. Percival made a tiny grunt of protest at the movement. But he was attracted by the proposal, of course, and devastatingly motivated.

“Could I?” He asked, staring into his brother’s face, and he discovered he was immobile, his body captured against his brother’s. So close was he that the sensation of Aglovale’s slow heartbeat echoed into his chest. 

“I’ll allow it.” Aglovale laughed, enigmatically dignified in his permission.

Percival lifted himself with much effort, breaking away from Aglovale’s embrace. His body hovered over the King’s, and he kept himself balanced on palms pressed deep into the mattress. He looked at Aglovale for a long time, his lips twisting and tasting the dampness of his own tongue. 

“What do you wish to do, Percival?” His brother whispered, waiting, his lips parted in encouragement.

“I want to kiss you. Like how he did.” He heard himself demand harshly and jealously. His right hand lifted, clasping Aglovale’s cheek, stroking aside loose lengths of blond hair.

“Kiss me then. But do not kiss me in the way he did.” Aglovale ordered and he turned to heat Percival’s palm with his mouth. And in one single, forceful motion, Aglovale’s hands lifted, weaving across the prince’s back, pulling him down tight again into a locked embrace, so close that their noses touched and met.

“Do not kiss me in the way he did,” Aglovale repeated in a warning whisper, his lower lip tracing Percival’s chin.

He did not need another command and his mouth angled to push hard kisses onto Aglovale’s lips. And those lips parted readily, the sinuous wet brush of their tongues against each other filled Percival with a surge of pleasure. He had dragged Aglovale’s robe off, as his brother did with his, and the shared heat of their skin and flesh aggressively arousing. 

He kissed Aglovale again, deeper, fiercer, dampening the blond man’s cheeks and jaw intensely. 

“Would you want more, Percival?” Aglovale reached up, his fingers curving onto the reddened shell of Percival’s ear and he lifted his head.

His brother’s voice swooned into his senses, Aglovale’s breath chill comfort on his flushed skin. Percival broke his kisses, pushing his face into Aglovale’s neck, licking, kissing, filling himself with his brother’s scent. 

“I want more, _aniue,_ ” He muttered thickly. His hands restlessly gripped Aglovale’s head, pulling strands of hair towards his mouth and kissed each lock of hair possessively, “ _Aniue_ , I want more. I want more than what you gave him.”

He let his brother’s hair fall from his hands, the lengths falling in disarray against the dark blue bed sheets. Swallowing another thick breath, Percival arched his back, his mouth clumsily kissing down Aglovale’s chest, his tongue tracing and laving knotted lines of muscle down his brother’s body as if he was desperate to mimic what he saw that night.

“How much more, Percival?” Aglovale asked, his gaze lowered as Percival continued to kiss and lick, the prince’s long, taut body curling between his splayed legs. 

“More than what he had been given, _aniue_.” He said, his eyes fiery and roused yet his voice covetous and pleading. His lips wavered above Aglovale’s groin, his fingers persistently pressing on the blond man’s hips but not daring to touch further inward.

The King fell silent for a while as if he was contemplating. After a while, he pushed himself up, and he smiled down with an odd understanding at Percival. Aglovale leaned forward - one kiss delivered to Percival’s forehead and another to the hot, tense curve of his neck. His hands slipped under Percival’s arms to pull him up, with shocking strength and the prince was flipped to his back, his head falling against the pillows.

And before he could speak or utter a single word, his mouth was kissed, his lips teased open. The kisses did not end there, and they traveled down the arch of his throat, down to his chest - to his nipples and the tautening muscles of his belly. He was kissed and licked in the same manner as Aglovale’s hands drifted in practiced motions. For he knew where to touch, where to graze till he was satisfied at the aching arches of Percival’s body reacting to every stroke of his fingers. 

Aglovale moved his hands, rounding them on the muscular curve of the prince’s ass. Percival felt a pull and lift, as now his thighs rested on a bent lap. And he heard sounds drift in and out - the soft lock of a cabinet drawer, the rustle of fabric and Aglovale’s low voice, intensely magnetic, destructively persuasive.

Then, he nodded; he was not sure what he agreed to, and he only knew his body pleaded for it.

Fingers expertly slid, weaving themselves inside, spreading him. Wetness clung to his skin - droplets of cold liquid smeared copiously across his ass and within. He was kissed, and as if that kiss was to goad him into wakefulness. Percival heard his name faintly called once more, and he tilted his face towards the sound of that voice. Then, there was a gentle, persistent pressure below. It pushed, stretched, and his hips arched at its invasion, his mouth parting into soundless spasms. 

Hands took hold of his, keeping him afloat as he fell into a quagmire of new sensations - the burning ingress between his legs, the spasms in his stomach as his body sought to be filled.

“Percival.” He was called again, and his eyes flew open, sighting the elegant form of his brother hunching above him.

Aglovale’s face was flushed, misted with a sheen of sweat. He was watching in a manner that bespoke of pleasure and delight as his cock impelled the damp recesses of Percival’s twitching body. 

He cried at the fullness and swallowed a groan.

“More, _aniue_.”

His brother obliged, sleekly sliding his erection out of Percival’s ass, and in shallow motions, teased the tight, slick hole.

It made Percival cry out again, and his hips lifted, trembling.

Aglovale paused in his movements, and his hand stroked away the sweat-laced strands of flame from Percival’s eyes. The King’s expression seemed almost disconsolate, apologetic as if this was not a gift he should have taken. But Percival’s desire spoke otherwise, and he protested with a ravaging intensity, his hips greedily pushing down against his brother’s cock.

“You’re not giving me more than what he had, _aniue_.” The prince gasped, greedily clutching at his brother’s elbow. His legs lifted, clamping Aglovale’s hips tightly. The King then laughed, the laugh throaty, tender, and predatory as he succumbed to their shared debauchery.

“Just how much did you see that night, Percival.” Aglovale wondered, his thoughts wickedly loud and he hooked a hand beneath Percival’s knee, widening the spread of the prince’s thighs. He paused, angling himself, and took possession of Percival once more, forcefully plunging into him. 

“I did not…” He cried out, unable to finish his retort as he was claimed in demanding thrusts. His body was drawn up, his nipples suckled and lightly bitten in time with each lurch of Aglovale’s hips. 

“I did not see everything.” He moaned, confessing as his ass tightened around Aglovale in excruciating hardness. His thighs quivered, and a gripping sensation clutched him like a net across his groin. “I did not see... “

A sharp groan replaced the words he wanted to say. His erection jerked against his stomach, webbing his skin with stark white strands. 

Aglovale smiled.

The lunges between his legs grew intently relentless, the thrusts ardently brutal. The King loomed above his brother, his palms sinking with forceful weight into the mattress. He pushed himself deeply in, filling Percival thickly. His brother sucked in a string of breaths, and Percival's hips lifted once more, finding himself painfully erect again as he strained to accept each thrust.

But he wanted Aglovale’s kisses, and he wanted Aglovale’s comfort. Elbowing the bed, Percival angled himself up to seek his brother’s mouth. He was kissed and their kisses turned frantic and instead of satiation, they grew desperate for more.

“ _Aniue..."_

Percival moaned, falling cumbrously backward onto the bed as wetness smeared his belly once more, a layer of pale watery white over his virginal release. Dazed and buried in the after-haze of spent lust, Percival’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, his body hilted and impelled as Aglovale surged within him, burying himself deep and hard.

~ x ~

“Percival.”

He was courted awake, and cold fingers brushed his eyelids, persuading him to open his eyes. Percival struggled to pry his eyes open, now semi-lucid and slightly aware of a deep soreness and a slight pain. 

He was no longer on the bed. And he found himself soaked in a pool of warm water. There was movement behind him, and he leaned back into a hard chest and soothing words. Kisses rained the back of his nape, and lips reached forth, pushing apart the damp strands of his hair. They were in the bath chamber again, in the ceramic tub and in the darkness, entwined and naked. 

He saw his body blushed with faint marks both red and pink, bites and bruises for Aglovale’s mouth had been merciless.

“Promise me, Percival.” Aglovale murmured against his back, his teeth nipping down his flesh.

Percival held his breath, as his brother’s hands swept downwards, intimately dominating.

“Promise me that you are mine. And will forever be mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had indulged myself with more character studies of Aglovale and Percival here, especially Aglovale, his tendencies, his behavior, and his magic. The castle of Wales and especially, Aglovale's rooms intrigued me for a long while. From the way he governs his country and how he dotes on Percival, Aglovale comes across as a practical man who values function, efficiency, and cleanliness (of course) and completely capable of being in control of his emotions. 
> 
> He is lavish with others, especially with those whom he holds dear to him. But to himself - perhaps he would be strict, and maybe just a little too conservative about his belongings. As a King, he must look opulent and he must stand out indeed, though it does not necessarily transfer to his private life. He is certainly not flippant about spending or having a need to accumulate riches; if he did so, it would be for his family or *chuckles* to provide Percival with an insanely huge inheritance.
> 
> As always, much thanks and *blows kisses* to my friends who engage in all these -ahem- troubling talk about the Wales brothers with me


End file.
